


Thirteen Designs by Hanna Marin

by speakpirate



Series: Thirteen Things [5]
Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakpirate/pseuds/speakpirate
Summary: Backless Empire Waist Evening Gown with Sexy Side Cuts. Pink and white. Worn in the cover shot for her first appearance in Vogue Paris.She waves off her driver and walks home from the photo shoot in a state of exhausted exhilaration. She’s sweaty and starving and grateful to be back in her jeans and faux leather shirt. She strolls through the Square of Batignolles just as the sun starts to set. This is her favorite time of day in Paris, when the lights of the city start to spring on, constellations of glamour and romance glittering into view.She pauses in her walk to run her fingers over the buds of the purple beech, just bursting into blossom. It’s springtime, and she is in love.





	Thirteen Designs by Hanna Marin

**Author's Note:**

> _\-----------_  
>  This story owes a huge debt to lco123 for giving it an early read and providing feedback and suggestions that made the whole thing better. And also for being a pioneer of post-Spaleb Spanna fic. 
> 
> _\-----------_

I.

_A black denim vest with silver sequins and safety pins down one seam. Worn over a white tank top with silver accent jewelry._

She’s fourteen and everything is the absolute worst. For months, her mom and dad have been having whisper fights every night in the living room. Lately, though, her dad isn’t bothering to keep his voice down. He was shouting in the kitchen last night. That’s bad. It’s way scarier if their fighting isn’t even a secret.

It sucks.

_And_ she doesn’t fit into her favorite jeans anymore. She leaned backwards on the bed, she held her breath, she sucked her stomach in as far as she could and the second she finally got them fastened, the button sprang loose and shot across the room.

She sits on the floor crying and feeling miserable for two hours. Alison will know. She’ll make a Hefty Hanna joke. There’s no way she can go to the sleepover at Spencer’s. She’ll have her mom call and say she sick or something.

Except then she’ll have to stay at home and listen to the fighting, keeping an ear out for the slamming door that might mean her dad is leaving.

She’s using the jeans to wipe her eyes when Mona Vandewaal appears at her bedroom door. They can’t really be friends at school, on account of Mona has braids and braces and dresses kind of dorky. She’s okay, though. They met at camp last summer, and Hanna knows she might need Mona someday, when Alison gets tired of her and cuts her out. At least she’ll have a lunch table to sit at. 

“What’s up?” Mona asks, her eyes huge behind her glasses. 

Hanna doesn’t even have to answer, Mona looks at the situation and basically reads her mind.

“It’s not a problem,” Mona declares. “It’s a project.”

And before she knows it, they’re cutting the jeans up and pinning the pieces back together as a vest. They’re sewing and Hanna’s modeling by twirling in front of the mirror. Mona has a hot glue gun and they’re adding sequins for a kind of rock and roll look.

Something really weird happens when she looks at her reflection. She looks kind of hot.

Mona’s eyes are all over her, her face hungry and watchful.

Mona is really good at this. At taking something and turning it into something else.

\--------------------------

II.

_A red sleeveless midi bandage dress, with a slit up the right thigh._

The Valentine’s Day dance has a masquerade theme, and Hanna wants to stand out. She spent most of Homecoming looking over her shoulder, half-expecting Alison to stalk through the door and make a huge entrance for her return. Now it’s been months and Alison is still gone. So gone, Hanna can sometimes pretend she never existed. That things have always been like they are now: she’s always been popular, always thin, always had a hot boyfriend. Or, actually, a hot and cold boyfriend. Or lukewarm and cold. It’s fine, Sean is just a gentleman. But maybe tonight will be the night he takes one look at her and discovers he can’t keep his hands to himself.

The dress is perfect. She made it herself. She saw something like it in a shop window in New York, but her mom’s face looked pinched and she pulled Hanna along the sidewalk without even going into the boutique to ask about the price. She tried calling her dad to see if maybe he’d buy it for her for Christmas, but he never called back. It’s almost like he never existed, either. 

The dance is a total scene. Red tinted lights and a live band and everyone twirling around in their masks and fancy clothes. Bridget Wu’s Queen of Hearts gown is so poofy she can’t get close enough to Noel to slow dance, allowing Mona and her tight little black dress to step in. Bridget stalks unsteadily off the dance floor, her hoop skirt swaying wildly. Andrew Campbell has to jump out of her way. Spencer’s laugh drifts across the room, and Hanna feels a weird pang that’s almost like regret.

Which is ridiculous. She has everything she’s ever wanted. The right guy. The right dress. The right cuff bracelets that she shoplifted from Macy’s last week. 

Hanna can feel everyone’s eyes on her as she steers Sean around the dance floor. Then it’s one particular pair of eyes, staring over Ben Coogan’s beefy shoulder. 

Emily.

She looks away when Hanna catches her staring, her cheeks going a little red. She must be mad. She’s been acting super weird since the makeover. 

Hanna tugs at the hem of the dress. The song isn’t over, but she sees Emily peeling away from Ben and heading over to the drinks table. 

“Be right back,” Hanna says, patting Sean’s shoulder.

Emily is pouring a cup of the red fruity punch straight down her throat.

“Careful,” Hanna tells her. “Noel was over here with a flask earlier.”

Emily ignores her, ladling out a second cup and gulping it just as fast.

“Seriously,” Hanna says, sniffing her own cup. “You could strip paint with this stuff.”

Emily knocks back her third glass of the spiked punch in quick succession and then sweeps her gaze up Hanna’s leg, staring hard at the slit in the thigh. 

When her eyes meet Hanna’s, there’s a flash in them that Hanna’s never seen before. It’s like someone struck a match, all light and heat. All of a sudden the corner they’re standing in seems darker. And smaller.

Hanna feels her whole body flush as Emily leans forward.

“You’re not her,” she whispers, when their faces are an inch apart.

Hanna stands there, her heart beating harder than it should be, watching as Emily disappears back into the crowd.

She takes a deep breath as she goes to find Sean.

By the end of the night, it’ll be just one more thing that never happened.

\-----------

III.

_A reversible black hoodie with red lining and fold out panels. Inside out it transforms into a red coat._

Charlotte DiLaurentis has been carted off to Welby. Her phone can ping now without a bolt of terror shooting up her spine.

She’s been seeing Dr. Sullivan again. She wants to be as normal as possible when she starts at the Fashion Institute in the fall.

In therapy this week, they talked through strategies to deal with situations that might trigger her PTSD.

She’s doing homework. Teaching herself not to be afraid.

Her hand shakes against the paper.

She keeps drawing.

\-----------------

IV.

_Black babydoll lingerie. Maternity sized._

It’s Alison’s baby shower, and they’re all still here. This is what they’ve wanted all along, the luxury of drinking mimosas and not worrying about anything more serious than which candy is smeared in each diaper.

“Butterfingers,” Hanna declares, passing the diaper to Spencer.

“You’re supposed to write it down,” Aria laughs. 

“Fine,” Hanna sighs, scribbling it on a scorecard.

“It’s okay,” Spencer says, patting her knee. “We all know you have the best nose for sugar.”

The three of them are sitting across from Emily and Alison. Hanna smiles as Emily rests a hand casually on her girlfriend’s baby bump.

They’ve only been together officially for a few months, but they seem so settled. Solid. Built to last. After all the drama, after everything, the two of them deserve a happy ending.

“I’m getting another drink,” Hanna announces. “Anyone else?”

“It’s barely 11 o’clock,” Emily says, shaking her head.

“Mimosas are brunch drinks,” Hanna insists. “And I need to get ready for Europe. They drink all day there.”

“And it’s already five o’clock in Rome,” Spencer points out.

“And Madrid,” Hanna adds, before realizing the entire country of Spain might be permanently off limits, thanks to Caleb. Caleb, who wanted Spencer, then Hanna, then neither. Or both. Maybe that was the problem.

Spencer only hesitates a moment before she responds. “It’s almost last call in Australia.”

Hanna grins. “In Bora Bora, it’s already tomorrow. We’re way behind.”

“And not wearing bikinis,” Alison adds, “Although I’d have to be in a giant maternity muumuu or something. Nothing fits anymore.”

“Wait till you see what I got you,” Hanna tells her as she gets up. “Guaranteed to fit well enough to make Emily blush.”

Emily does blush a little, then kisses Ali on the side of the head, as Hanna heads into the kitchen. Spencer follows her, closely examining the carrots and peppers left on the veggie tray that Aria brought.

“When do you leave?” she asks.

“Next week,” Hanna replies, munching on a chocolate chip cookie as she pours herself another mimosa. “I’m flying out on Tuesday.”

Spencer nods. “I’m here until the end of the month.”

“Then back to DC?”

“To my glamorous new life as a policy researcher for the DNC.”

“Give it a year,” Hanna tells her. “You’ll be running the whole show.”

“And you’ll be back to your globetrotting fashionista routine, and the most I’ll see of you is an Instagram post from Ibiza.”

“No,” Hanna says, firmly. “It won’t be like that. Being back here with everyone, with you, it’s like I didn’t know how much I missed this.”

“Being stalked and almost murdered every couple of days?”

Hanna sticks out her tongue. “Having people in my life who really know me.”

“Better than you know yourself,” Spencer grins, running a fingertip down Hanna’s nose.

Hanna grins back. “We’re okay, right?”

“Always,” Spencer answers.

Maybe she’s a little tipsy, or maybe Ali being pregnant and all lovey dovey with Em is pumping the air full of hormones or something, because she grabs Spencer into an impulsive one armed hug. It’s friendly, except their bodies are like, pressing together in a way that feels new. It’s sort of electric and sexy and she can feel Spencer’s sharp intake of breath, see the look in her eyes that’s a mixture of surprise and _desire._

“Carpet diem,” Hanna mutters as she leans forward.

“Carpe,” Spencer whispers, in the millisecond before they start kissing.

\-------------------------------- 

V.

_Travel wear. White linen drawstring pants with flared leg. White sleeveless tank. Casual blazer with navy stripes._

Spencer is dropping her off at the airport. They’ve spent most of the past week naked and sweaty, sprawled across Spencer’s bed in the barn. Maybe putting on a robe to answer the door when the pizza arrives. It works out great, since most of Hanna’s clothes are already packed.

Neither of them mentions Caleb.

They haven’t talked about what they’re doing or why. It’s like, they’ve loved each other for years. Maybe this is just a new part of that. Or maybe Spencer is helping Hanna get ready for Europe, like teaching her a new language or making her memorize a subway map. Maybe they’re letting off years worth of pent up steam, now that the ‘A’ game is finally behind them.

But none of that explains the lump in her throat, the way she really wants to beg Spencer to ditch her DNC gig and spend the rest of the year on the continent.

“Look out, Europe,” Spencer says as they pull up to the departure terminal, her voice a little thick. “Next time I see you, you’ll be on the cover of a magazine.”

“Spence,” Hanna says, her heart so full it feels like it might burst. She doesn’t have anything to follow it up with, Spencer’s name just feels special. Like a good luck charm. 

But now Spencer’s looking at her expectantly, as if this is a moment for saying something profound. Probably it is, but Hanna’s got nothing. Nothing but an intense longing to bundle Spencer out of the car and hustle her onto the plane with her. Define this new thing between them by declaring it on their Customs Forms.

Instead, she squeezes Spencer’s hand.

“Kiss me goodbye.”

And so that’s what Spencer does.

\---------------------

VI.

_A slim fit black tuxedo with bold red piping on the seams and royal purple trim on the two button notch lapel._

The jacket looks a lot better than Caleb’s pained expression as she makes a few final adjustments. It’s his bad luck he’s the same height and build as the former boy band member turned actor who wants one of her designs for the Met Gala. 

Menswear is easy. Men, not so much.

They’re back together in a loose way. After the last dark days in Rosewood, he caught the first flight to California and stayed there. Sunshine. Palm trees. His mom’s giant old hacienda.

Then he turned up in Prague. Saw an ad for her collection in the train station. She doesn’t remember where he was supposed to be going. In this part of their relationship, she’s a detour. And he’s _Caleb._ It always used to seem like a good enough reason.

He sighs. He gets twitchy when he has to spend more than twenty minutes offline. He’s got about ten projects going at any time. New apps for Lucas. The site for Alison and Emily’s wedding. Designing hacker proof security systems for the DNC.

Neither of them mentions Spencer.

He smells like sandalwood soap. The same kind he’s been using since high school. 

“We’re almost finished,” she tells him, her mouth full of pins. 

He looks down at her, his dark eyes sad. Resigned.

“I know.”

\-----------------------------------------

VII.

_A mermaid style white dress with a sweetheart neckline and lacey bodice._

Emily looks phenomenal walking down the aisle, her face is glowing with pure unadulterated happiness.

The reception is in the Radley Ballroom, where the music is loud and the drinks are free flowing.

“Her dress looks amazing,” Spencer says, suddenly beside her. She puts a hand on Hanna’s hip. “And so do you.”

Hanna grins and shoots her a sultry look over her champagne glass.

“I heard you and Caleb were back on again?” Spencer says, raising a quizzical eyebrow. 

“Now we’re off again.”

It’s that easy. 

Spencer takes her hand and pulls her towards the bathroom.

“Did you miss me?” she asks, at a crucial moment.

Hanna’s makeup is smeared and her dress is hiked up above her waist as she presses her mouth against Spencer’s ear.

“Baby, you have no idea.”

\------------------------------- 

VIII.

_Backless Empire Waist Evening Gown with Sexy Side Cuts. Pink and white. Worn in the cover shot for her first appearance in Vogue Paris._

She waves off her driver and walks home from the photo shoot in a state of exhausted exhilaration. She’s sweaty and starving and grateful to be back in her jeans and faux leather shirt. She strolls through the Square of Batignolles just as the sun starts to set. This is her favorite time of day in Paris, when the lights of the city start to spring on, constellations of glamour and romance glittering into view. 

She pauses in her walk to run her fingers over the buds of the purple beech, just bursting into blossom. It’s springtime, and she is in love. 

Spencer greets her at the door of their third floor walk up. There are dozens of congratulatory floral arrangements taking up most of the floor space. Between her career momentum and Spencer’s trust fund, they could afford a bigger place by now - but Hanna likes how cozy the smallness feels. It’s shoebox, but it’s _their_ shoebox.

“Was it amazing?” Spencer asks. “How many pictures did they take?”

“Thousands,” Hanna grins. “Hopefully they got at least one where I look more hot than not.”

“If you were any hotter, their cameras would spontaneously combust,” Spencer assures her. She takes Hanna’s hand and leads her towards the balcony, where she’s set up a table with candles and take out from their favorite bistro.

Hanna presses her against the wall and kisses her so thoroughly the candles get drippy and her burger goes cold.

\--------------------------

IX.

_Sleeveless navy blue sheath dress with bold red and white diagonal stripes. Custom order for Veronica Hastings._

Hanna is helping her mom deck the Radley Ballroom in red, white, and blue bunting. 

“Don’t you have a staff for this?” Hanna asks, taking off her heels to climb a small step ladder and pin one of the corners.

“Yes,” Ashley says. “They’re all working overtime for the party tonight. And it’s one of the benefits of having children. No matter how successful they are, someday you can make them hang banners for free.”

“You can also take them to the spa. Nothing says quality time like pedicures and mud masks.”

“Is it,” Ashley says in a tone of forced casualness. “Something you’re thinking about?”

“Remember when I was in high school?” Hanna asks. “How we had a kajillion talks about how you _didn’t_ want to be a grandmother?”

Ashley smiles. “Well, times change. I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

Hanna looks at her mom. She doesn’t really look older, just like an updated version of her usual self. Her auburn hair is short these days, a no fuss pixie cut, and she’s wearing a tailored black pantsuit with a chunky silver belt. For the past three months, she’s been having a fling with Paolo, a sexy bartender who’s _maybe_ half her age. Hanna hopes she has enough of Ashley’s genes or mojo or whatever it is that keeps her from turning into a boring old lady.

“Sure,” Hanna tells her. “ _Someday._ We want to get married. We want to have kids. But it’s like - when the time is right, we’ll know.”

Ashley nods. “I know you girls didn’t have the most carefree youth. I can understand why you’d want to wait.”

Hanna climbs down from the ladder. “It’s not that. Half of it is we both have so much going on all the time. Half of it is that things are so good. Not just good good. We’re talking amazing, out of this world, good. Like, sex and chocolate and the perfect creme rinse good. So neither of us want to jinx it. And half of it is not wanting to turn into Aria and Ezra.”

“That’s three halves, honey.” Ashley says, wrapping an arm around Hanna’s shoulders. She pulls a small velvet jewelry pouch out of her purse and places it in Hanna’s palm. “This was Grandma Marin’s. Take it. For whenever you’re ready. But remember what she used to say: If it’s the right horse, there’s no wrong time to ride ‘em.”

Later that night, Spencer is standing on stage with Veronica as the polls close and the news outlets project a landslide. Her mother takes her hand, and Melissa’s, and raises their arms in victory.

The crowd in the ballroom stomps and whistles.

Governor Hastings.

She watches Spencer, the interplay of love and pride and familial ambition written across her face. She quit her job at the embassy to come back and run her mother’s campaign. Hanna’s keeping the Paris design studio open, but turning over day to day operations to her staff. All of whom are highly competent and hugely talented, up and comers excited to be part of a hot new label. Hanna’s a good boss. She doesn’t throw things at people or spit at them for simple mistakes, a rarity in the world of fashion. Mona has at least three protegees she wants Hanna to interview to help launch her New York operation. Hanna Marin Internationale.

Spencer’s got a job lined up at the United Nations.

But as Hanna sees her walk to the podium to do the lead in to the victory speech, she feels like Mrs. Grunwald is grasping her shoulder, that the vision in front of her is overlaid with images of a thousand other stages that Spencer is going to cross, flush with joy and adrenaline and high hearted faith in democracy. 

Spencer’s going to be in Congress. Hanna touches the ring in her pocket. She’s going to be a politician’s wife.

\-------------------- 

X.

_Forest green baby onesie, with punk rock looking teddy bear rendered in faux fur on the front._

They’re at a charity gala at the Natural History Museum, and Hanna is sketching on the back of her napkin. The party is boring and her dress feels too tight. Aria’s face is pinched and her makeup has the look of a post-cry touch up. There’s a smudge of mascara still visible beneath her left ear. Spencer’s made at least two appointments for her to talk to people at Veronica’s old law firm, but Aria always cancels them at the last minute. Ezra’s with her tonight, but he’s drinking too much and leering at Mona and Lauren Jauregui. Who are totally going to make Page Six with the way they’re dancing together, but still.

“Twenty more minutes, and we’ll sneak out,” Spencer whispers, appearing at the table to drain a glass of water. She smiles at Hanna, a small private smile that makes it feel like they’re the only two people in the world. They have a secret.

Or maybe they don’t. Moments after Spencer walks away to keep working the room with Melissa, Charlotte accidentally bumps into a cater waiter who spills a giant silver tray of shrimp cocktail directly onto Ezra’s lap.

Hanna leaps up and reels backwards, looking around desperately for one of those big potted plants or ugly centerpieces, sure she’s about to hurl.

Charlotte’s gaze flickers from Hanna’s greenish pallor to the untouched glass of champagne next to her plate. Hanna gags behind her napkin and heads quickly towards the restroom.

The next day, Charlotte shows up in her office unannounced. She doesn’t ask for a job, but within thirty minutes she’s negotiated a lower price point with their largest fabric supplier, outlined a new direction for their latest marketing campaign, and made major inroads in opening the Chinese market via her ability to charm the consulate in fluent Mandarin. At lunch, she whips up a smoothie blend that cures Hanna’s morning sickness.

And okay, she’s a reformed criminal mastermind. But in the fashion world, sanity can be judged on a sliding scale. She’s nowhere near as crazy as Claudia, who recently made headlines for pushing her latest assistant through a plate glass window at Narcissa.

Plus she has great style, a bone deep understanding of Hanna’s taste, and an uncanny knack for keeping them five steps ahead of the competition. 

Within a week, she’s made herself indispensable.

By the time Hanna goes on maternity leave, Charlotte is happily installed as Creative Director and CFO.

\--------------------------------

XI.

_Princess scoop neck floor length gown. Silver. Made out a silver silk so shimmery that it looks like the dress is made out of moonlight._

Hanna enters the house with a sigh of relief. Ash is running up the stairs before she even sets her bag down, Atticus tearing off after his older brother. She hears them thundering around the second floor as Spencer brings the rest of their luggage in from the car.

“God,” Spencer says, flopping down next to Hanna on the couch. “Did you ever think you’d be so happy to be back in Rosewood?”

“Not in a million years,” Hanna says, resting her head on Spencer’s shoulder.

New York is a constant whirl of meetings and parties and deadlines and drivers and nannies. The new kidswear line is so popular it’s impossible to keep up with demand. Malia Obama’s youngest was photographed wearing it, and they’ve had six months worth of back orders ever since. 

The brand is exploding, and Hanna is the face of the company. A company that isn’t solely fashion anymore - they’ve acquired a cosmetics firm, a home furnishings line, a social media platform, and a music festival. 

She’s a mogul. A fashion icon. And right now, she can’t remember whether she packed Ash’s little league gear.

There’s the sound of a ruckus from above. 

“I’ll go,” Spencer offers, kissing Hanna lightly on the nose as she gets up. 

Hanna sits for a moment and contemplates the new house. It’s a modified Frank Lloyd Wright design, with wider hallways and a larger kitchen. There’s a vast wall of windows that look out over the ravine. It’s all mirrored glass. They can see out, no one else can see in. She can hear the rushing water of the creek, the same one they threw Jenna’s file into all those years ago.

Somehow she doesn’t mind ending up back where they started, not one bit.

It’s a far cry from their penthouse in New York, or the condo in DC. It’s not even their tiny Parisian pied-à-terre. It’s so much better. A place where the kids can go to regular school. Where they can walk to the playground without anyone snapping their pictures, where Ashley and Veronica can sit under giant shade umbrellas and watch every single soccer game. 

The doorbell rings, and Emma DiLaurentis Fields walks in with an enormous Welcome Basket.

“My moms sent this over,” she announces, rolling her eyes. It’s full of cookies and muffins and cleaning products. A framed photo of the five of them in high school, and more recent one taken in front of the Lincoln Memorial the night Spencer was elected Speaker of the House.

“I’ll trade you,” Hanna says, grabbing a garment bag from on top of the pile of suitcases. Emma is too cool to actually squeal, but she has it unzipped before Hanna has finished unwrapping a chocolate chip cookie. 

Emma is twirling around with the dress held in front of her, a grin on her face that’s a perfect blend of Alison’s smirk and Emily’s shy smile.

“Are you going with Justin?” Hanna asks, polishing off the cookie in two bites.

“Justin who?” Emma laughs. “Justin is of the past.”

“So who’s next in line?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Ryan, maybe. Or Chad. _Possibly_ Scott.” She sighs dramatically, as if burdened by having to choose between such thoroughly lackluster options. “I wanted to take this guy Taylor, but _she_ freaked out because he has a goatee and his own apartment.”

“Twenty one?” Hanna guesses. 

Emma blushes. “Twenty two. I mean, I told them he was a senior. I just maybe forgot to mention the Hollis part.”

“You’ll have your pick of college guys next year,” Hanna promises. “And once you see the guys at Brown or NYU or wherever, this Taylor is guaranteed to look like an off brand.”

Emma sweeps her hand through her hair and snaps a selfie, examining the effect of a potential up do.

“They have such stupid rules,” she sighs. “No dating older guys. No selling your face to a man in the woods. No faking your own death.”

“They love you,” Hanna says, fondly. Sometimes talking to Emma feels like she’s wandered out of a time machine, like she’s a teenager again listening to Alison complain about Jessica. Although Emma is a secretly a sweet person underneath the layers of attitude. Hanna imagines her as an alternative version of her mother, the Alison-that-could-have been if she’d grown up with a decent family, the kind of parents who would never bury you alive.

“If I do fake my own death, could you and Spencer adopt me?”

Hanna shakes her head, hears her own mother in her voice as she replies. 

“No one is faking their own death. Now try the dress on before I decide to keep the shoes for myself.”

Emma disappears into the downstairs bath to change. When she has the dress on (as well as one of Hanna’s lipsticks and a necklace she definitely didn’t ask to borrow), she comes out and asks for help fastening it.

Hanna stands behind her and zips it up, looking at their reflection in the full length mirror and feels tears prickling behind her eyes. 

She looks so incredibly grown up. 

It’s been a lifetime, Hanna realizes. Since the last text message.

\--------------------------

 

XII.

_Outer wear. Navy blue down ski jacket with star design in white with red outline. Red and white twisting stripes on removeable sleeves. US Flag patch above the left breast pocket, Olympic ring insignia above the right. Official Team USA Apparel for the Winter Games._

All the proceeds from the Olympic line are being donated to charity. She and Spencer have been making the rounds, receiving awards and acknowledgements from everyone from the Trevor Project to the Girl Scouts and about a million others in between.

Tonight, they’re at a banquet for Project HEAL and Hanna’s the keynote speaker. She went public about her teenage struggle with bulimia a few years ago. Kate Randall, who’s witch mother isn’t even married to her dad anymore, financed her latest nose job by selling a story about it to the tabloids. 

Alison called her in tears. Hanna shrugged it off gracefully and did an interview on the Today Show. 

Their stock soared, Spencer got an eight point polling bump, and Kate Randall had unflattering pictures of herself plastered underneath “Wicked Stepsister” headlines in every single publication the Vanderwaal Conglomerate owns. Including Popular Mechanics. 

The young woman who introduces her this evening is a grad student in psychology. The first words out of her mouth are, “Hanna Marin saved my life.”

Spencer holds her hand in the car the whole the way home.

“You saved my life,” Hanna tells her. “A million times.”

“Same,” Spencer says, kissing her on the top of her head. Her voice drops to the gravelly pitch that still sends a chill down Hanna’s spine. “You also - you made my life, Hanna. I can’t imagine what it would have been like without you.”

Hanna squeezes her hand, rests her head against Spencer’s shoulder. 

\----------------------

XIII.

_Backless burgundy gown with flared train. White trim on the reverse, visible through the slit up the right leg._

It’s New Year’s Eve and they’re popping champagne at Alison and Emily’s. Jason is out of town, but Aria is sitting cross legged on the floor dipping baby carrots in hummus. She and Spencer are curating a noir marathon that promises to stretch into the wee hours of the morning. 

She’s eating cheesy poofs and drinking rum and Diet Coke with her best friends, idly watching as Spencer tosses popcorn at Alison, whose attention has strayed from the movie onto Emily’s black satin pajamas. 

Even with all the redecorating that Ali and Em have done over the years, the DiLaurentis house is like a time capsule. When they believed Alison was dead, Hanna used to think of it as haunted. It’s way more cozy than creepy these days, and maybe it’s the alcohol or the way she can tell they’re all going to sack out in the living room, even though they’ll all be super stiff in the morning, but she can almost hear the echoes of their teenage voices still bouncing off the walls. Sitting in Alison’s old bedroom painting each other’s toenails and flipping through fashion magazines. 

Plus there are pictures of the five of them everywhere, covering their entire span of their friendship. The five of them in the field from before Ali went missing. The five of them sunning on a row of lounge chairs at the lake. Emily with her head resting against Alison’s baby bump. Jason and Spencer giving the girls piggyback rides at an amusement park. Emma holding Ash, as he reaches to grab Aria’s fork earrings over her shoulder. Charlotte and Sophie hoisting a silver cup above their heads after winning the doubles tournament at the club. Mona with the five of them at her Tahitian Glamping Retreat. Sophie and Atticus standing back to back measuring who’s taller. All four of the kids posing together the year they had the ugly Christmas sweater contest. The five of them on the red carpet the year Aria won best original screenplay. Emily and Ali slow dancing at Emma’s wedding, Ash and Atticus tall and handsome in their groomsmen outfits in the background. The five of them with their moms at the Wine Bar that opened up where The Brew used to be. 

All these years, and their lives are still tangled together like a giant bowl of linguini. 

Emily is heading into the kitchen to get the champagne glasses ready. Hanna gets up to help her, walking past the exact spot where she first kissed Spencer senseless against the refrigerator. She can hear Alison in the living room, trying to cajole Aria and Spencer into a game of Truth or Dare.

“I heard a rumor,” Emily says, refreshing the cheese and cracker plate. 

Hanna raises her eyebrows and grabs a cheese cube. “Tell me.”

“Mona’s selling all of her holdings to Lucas.”

Hanna lets out a deep breath. Nothing stays a secret forever. Certainly not in Rosewood.

“She is.”

“So I take it you didn’t go to the Iowa State Fair last summer just to eat deep fried cheesecake on a stick?”

“Deep fried triple chocolate cheesecake on a stick. Don’t knock it till you try it! But, yeah. Mona’s going to run the campaign. You’re not a bad detective, you know that?”

“A Hastings has a shot, she takes a shot.”

“One of the many things I love about her,” Hanna agrees, taking another cube of cheese.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m selling the company to Charlotte.”

Emily’s eyes flicker across Hanna’s face, full of gentle concern. “Are you okay with that?”

“Of course,” Hanna says, smiling. “Do you wanna see what I’m working on now?”

Emily nods as Hanna pulls out her phone, flipping through her design app until she lands on the dress she wants to show her.

“This one,” Hanna says proudly. “This one is for the Inauguration.”


End file.
